


The Dragon and the Wolf

by JulietaJuris



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietaJuris/pseuds/JulietaJuris
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen sits in Dragonstone with three dragons and his son Jon. Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North, needs Dragonglass to fight on the oncoming threat beyond the wall.





	1. I. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Jonsa fam! I posted the first few chapters of this about a month ago, but decided to take a break from the fandom after a death in the family. I'm happy to say that I've returned and plan to continue this fic.
> 
> A lovely thanks to my beta LadyCarolineMichaelson for combing through this and making corrections. I'd be lost without her.

The parchment sits on the desk of her solar. Sansa looks to the piece of parchment. Her eyes flicker up to her Uncle Benjen. She takes the piece of parchment in her hands and reads it for the fifth time. She takes in each word as her eyes scan across the parchment. _Lady of Winterfell_ , he calls her. _Warden of the North,_ he says. Sansa scoffs at the parchment as if it were the Dragon King himself. She is neither of these things. Her people have declared her _Queen in the North_ and she wishes to be addressed as such.

 

She is her brother's sister, and to her knowledge, the last of her siblings. Winterfell is her home and the North is her Kingdom. _How dare he reduce her to one of his subjects!_ She brought the Knights of the Vale to her uncle’s aid and won the Battle for Winterfell. The North is hers by right of blood and conquest.

 

“He wants to meet with me,” Sansa says.

 

“Rhaegar Targaryen sits in Dragonstone with his son and three dragons,” Uncle Benjen says. “His dragons might provide aid in the fight against the Night King and the Others, but I’m not sure if he’s worth making an alliance with. The Targaryen’s are war mongers. I was alive to see them tear apart my family. You are my niece and my queen. I advise you not as not just your uncle but your loyal advisor to ignore this letter.”

 

“He can have the south for all I care,” Sansa says as she tosses Rhaegar’s letter aside. “But, I’m not going to Dragonstone to bend the knee for a Targaryen. We may have new enemies now, but _the North Remembers_. My family, myself -- _Jeyne_ \-- all of us have suffered, because the North has played the games of Southern Kings. The Northern Lords chose me to lead them. I do not answer to Tommen Baratheon, and I do not answer to Rhaegar Targaryen.”

 

Sansa looks to Davos Seaworth. With the loss of his former King, he seems to have found a new place for him in the North. “What do you make of all this, Lord Seaworth?”

 

Davos takes the scroll from the table. He mouths the words as his eyes focus on the paper. When he finishes, he sets the parchment on the table. He looks to her and says, “It will take time for Rhaegar Targaryen to travel North. He’ll move on the South first. Rhaegar may not pose a threat now, but he may gather support as he divides and conquers Westeros. I understand the history between your houses, but it may be an apt time to broker an alliance with House Targaryen soon rather than later.”

 

Baelish looks to her from across the room. Sansa keeps her facial features even as she looks to him. He is the reason that Jeyne was disguised as Arya and sold to the Boltons. She watches as he slithers from his corner across the room to the front of her desk. He means to give her advice, but only to further his own goals -- the very goals he revealed to her in the Godswood. She’d _never_ be his Queen -- not after what he did to Jeyne.

 

“Rhaegar Targaryen cannot be trusted, my Queen,” Petyr Baelish advises. “He kidnapped your aunt and forced her to bear his heir.”

 

Sansa raises her hand to silence him. That statement alone is real rich coming from the likes of him. He essentially kidnapped Jeyne and forced her to marry the most despicable man in the Seven Kingdoms.

 

“Lord Seaworth is speaking,” Sansa says. “I wish to hear what he has to say.”

 

Baelish leers at her for a moment too long. Sansa feels as if he’s peeling off her gown with his eyes. She forces her gaze away from him and looks back to Davos.

 

“My Queen,” Davos says. “Rhaegar Targaryen has one living heir, and that is Jon Targaryen. He is eligible for marriage, but it will not be for long. There’s no doubt in my mind that Walder Frey will offer up one of his daughters.”

 

Sansa snorts at the thought of Rhaegar’s son ever marrying one of Walder Frey’s daughters. She thinks of the Targaryen legacy. Rhaegar and Jon are the last of their house. The Targaryens cannot resort to their former incestial marriage practices. Jon will have to find a wife outside of the Targaryen line. Sansa laces her hands together. She looks to Uncle Benjen. His eyes are begging her to disregard Davos’ counsel He will need to find a wife, _but it won’t be her._

 

“I cannot in good conscience marry into a family that has spilled Stark blood,” Sansa says. “Lannister or Targaryen? I don’t see a difference. Both have dishonored my family. We are to ignore Rhaegar’s letter and forget that it even existed.”

 

Sansa sees a grin form upon Baelish’s lips. She averts her eyes back to Uncle Benjen. He looks down upon her with a small smile. They are alike in many ways. Both are the last of their siblings, and both have endured such great loss to the their family.

 

“You are all dismissed,” Sansa says. “Thank you for your counsel.”

 

Davos and Baelish leave the room. Sansa rises from her chair. She rounds the table to meet with Uncle Benjen. He walks by her side as they exit her solar. They are the last Starks. Her heart feels as if it’s being crushed at the thought of losing her family. Sansa takes in a deep breath and squares her shoulders back. She can’t cry -- not with a crown upon her head. The North looks to her for leadership. She must appear strong even when she feels weak -- _especially when she feels weak._

 

Sansa steps outside of the castle. She walks up to the wooden railing. How many times had she seen her mother and father standing side by side in this very spot? _Gods_ , she really misses them. Uncle Benjen stands by her side.

 

“I’m proud of you,” Uncle Benjen says. “You’re the reason we’re standing here today. Without the Knights of the Vale, my flayed corpse would be hanging over the battlements. I’m proud of you for rejecting Rhaegar’s call to Dragonstone. You weren’t alive to see what the Targaryens were like. I still remember the last day I saw my father and Brandon. I keep thinking about how I could have hugged my brother a little bit tighter. I wish I had told my father I loved him before he left.”

 

Sansa thinks back to her days at the Red Keep. She wishes she would have listened to her father. She wishes she’d never confided in Cersei. She was such a stupid girl with such stupid dreams. She looks up to Uncle Benjen. She can see all the grief in his eyes.

 

“I wish I had done things differently. I wake up every day in my father’s bed and all I can think about is how he died. I think about how I could have prevented his death…” Sansa pauses. “ _But_ , those days have come and gone. None of it is fair, but we have to live with it. This is where we are now.”

 

Sansa can feel the ground shift. Baelish is walking towards her. She forces her eyes forward and resists the urge to roll her eyes. The Vale’s work is done, but he insists on remaining in Winterfell. She wishes he would just leave.

 

“Do you wish for me to stay?” Benjen asks as he looks to to Baelish.

 

“No,” Sansa says. “I wish to hear what he has to say.”

 

“Careful Sansa,” Benjen warns in a hushed whisper. “I fear he only means to manipulate you.”

 

Benjen gives her one last look of warning before leaving her. Sansa places both gloved hands around the wooden railing. Littlefinger leans against the railing facing towards the castle. Sansa focuses her gaze downward at Brienne and Podrick sparing.

 

“What do you want Lord Baelish?” Sansa’s words are blunt.

 

“I want you to be happy,” he answers. “I want you to be safe.”

 

There was a time she would have believed him, but after Jeyne’s confession, she can’t help but assume the worst of him. She _knows_ what he truly wants from her. He had said as such in the Godswood. He wishes to sit on the Iron Throne with her as his consort. He only wishes for her to be a Queen if she is _his_ Queen rather than the North’s Queen.

 

“I am safe,” Sansa answers. “I am protected by the walls of Winterfell. I have Brienne to protect me from anyone in these walls who wishes me harm. I am not just the Lady of Winterfell. I am Queen of the North.”

 

“But, are you _happy_?” he asks. “What do you want that you do not have?”

 

“At the moment, peace and quiet,” Sansa says.

 

Sansa steps away from Baelish and retreats inside the walls of her castle. It still feels like such a dream. She can hardly believe that she’s here. She fears one day she will wake up inside the walls of the Red Keep -- that this is all a vivid dream.

 

Sansa returns to her solar. She closes the door behind her. It’s _quiet_. Sansa appreciates the quiet privacy she has in Winterfell. She was never given such a luxury in King’s Landing, and even in the Vale, she was always under the gaze of Baelish’s watchful eye. In Winterfell, she answers only to herself, and it is the first time in her life she’s had the ability to do exactly as she wills.

 

Sansa exhales deeply. She walks to a small side table. Her hands clutch a silver pitcher as she pours herself a heavy glass of red wine. She walks to her desk and sits in her chair. She leans back and takes a sip of the rich red wine. Robb sat behind this desk briefly before her, her father had sat here before him, and Rickard Stark before father. Her father hardly talked of their grandfather, but Uncle Benjen has said he was a very quiet and reserved man.

 

She hears a soft knock at the door. She sets her glass of wine onto the desk and shifts in her seat so that she is facing forward. “Come in!”

 

Uncle Benjen opens the door in front of her. In his hands is a tiny opened scroll. Another raven? Is it from Tommen? Is it from the Freys? Or another from the Targaryens?

 

“Sansa…” Uncle Benjen shuts the door behind him. He moves towards her desk with the parchment in hand. “I have news -- both good and bad.”

 

He sets the parchment on her table. Sansa unravels the piece of parchment and reads. Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch has discovered where to find Dragonglass. The news would have her overwhelmed with excitement if not for the locations of said Dragonglass -- _Dragonstone_ . _Of course_ , her luck would happen to fall this way.

 

“How trustworthy is Samwell Tarly?” Sansa asks.

 

“He is like a son to me,” Benjen says. “I took him under my wing the moment he entered the watch. There is no other man in the Night’s Watch I trust more.”

 

Sansa releases a defeated sigh. “I do not wish to meet with Rhaegar, and I cannot ask you to meet with the son of your father’s executioner.”

 

“Send an emissary,” Benjen says. “Davos Seaworth can speak for you while you remain in Winterfell.”

 

It is the first idea she had thought of too. An emissary of men would keep her and Benjen safe, but will it be enough to make negotiations? She doubts it.

 

“There was a time in my life where the most I could hope for is for Robb to come for me,” Sansa says. “There was a time where I was willing to marry Willas Tyrell, a man I never met, just so I could leave King’s Landing. There was also a time where the most I could hope for was that my Lannister husband wouldn’t rape me. I survived all of it, and we will find a way to survive the long winter.”

 

“If we have any hope for survival, we will need Dragonglass,” Benjen says. “I have seen what the Others can do. We need to be prepared.”

 

“Are you asking me to meet with Rhaegar myself?” Sansa asks.

 

“No, I only ask for you to send Davos Seaworth in your place,” Benjen says. “I do not believe for a moment that Rhaegar will come to our aid unless you bend the knee, but this is also an opportunity we cannot ignore. _We need Dragonglass_. The North will fall to the Other’s without it.”

 

“The Faith Militant is wrecking havoc for Cersei in King’s Landing, but her son still sits on the Iron Throne,” Sansa says. “She won’t bend the knee to Rhaegar herself, but Tommen might. Cersei is petty, and will do anything to manipulate the situation against me. This may be the only audience I get with Rhaegar.”

 

“You intend to meet with him?” a worried crease crosses Benjen’s forehead.

 

“I do not wish to,” Sansa says. “But, I may have to.”

 

Benjen releases a deep breath into the air. She can see in his eyes that he hates the position they are in.

 

“I will go,” Benjen offers himself. “You will be safe in Winterfell. Sansa, you have no idea what the Targaryen’s are like. Rhaegar tore through Essos and took it for himself. That is what Targaryens do. They conquer.”

 

“I know,” Sansa’s voice grows thin. She takes a sip of her wine and tries to clear her head. “My mother told me as such since I can remember. I do not wish to go, but it might be the best chance we got.”

 

Benjen’s eyes cast down to the floor. She can see that he hates this idea. _She hates this idea_. If Tommen weren’t so weak, she might hold off on meeting with Rhaegar. But, she can’t risk Tommen kneeling to Rhaegar. She cannot allow a Targaryen-Lannister alliance to be forged.

 

“I have to go,” Sansa says. “Tommen is too kind. He will kneel at the first sign of war. I do not intend to give the North to Rhaegar and his son, but I might be able to persuade him not to align himself with the Lannisters.”

 

“This is what you think is best?” Benjen looks to her.

 

“I don’t like it,” Sansa says. “Believe me, I’d rather stay here than be near the Dragonstone, but it’s the only way to for us to acquire Dragonglass. I don’t think it’s _best_ , but right now, it might be the only choice we have if we wish to hold the North. We can’t face the Lannisters, the Tyrells, and the Targaryens if they form an alliance. I won’t bend the knee, but I might be able to persuade the Targaryens not to align themselves with the Lannisters.”

 

Benjen is quiet. Sansa looks into his eyes, searching for his approval. He releases a deep sigh and looks to her.

 

“I don’t like it,” he says. “I don’t like it one bit, but you are my Queen. So, I trust you are doing what is best for the North.”

 

Sansa can see a hint of disapproval in his eyes. She wishes that she can find another way around this, but she’s caught between a rock and a hard place.

 

“You say the Others took Hardhome in less than a day’s time,” Sansa says. “Without Dragonglass, I fear the same may happen to the North.”

 

Benjen nods. “I wish there was another way.”

 

“So do I,” Sansa says.

 

She takes another sip of her wine. Her decision has been made. She will tell the Northern Lords that she will set sail for Dragonstone in two days time. Benjen will hold the North in her absence. Sansa finishes the rest of her wine and sets the empty glass back on her desk.

 

“Keep an eye on Baelish during my absence,” Sansa says. “There’s no doubt in my mind that he has something clever up his sleeve.”

 

Benjen looks to her. “We both know what he did to Jeyne Poole. Why is he still here?”

 

Sansa looks to Benjen. “He controls the Vale. Unfortunately we still need him.”

 

“I don’t like him,” Benjen says.

 

“Nor do I,” Sansa says. “But, right now our options are limited. We need the Knights of the Vale if we expect to hold Winterfell.”

 

Sansa looks to Benjen. “I need a moment alone. Have my handmaiden draw me a bath, please.”

 

Benjen looks to Sansa. “As you wish.”

 

Benjen exits the room, leaving Sansa alone in her solar. Sansa takes her glass in hand and walks back over to the small table. She pours herself a second glass of wine. She sets the pitcher down on the table and brings the glass to her lips.

 

Sansa takes a small sip of wine. She can feel the weight of her crown on her hand. When she was a mere child all she wanted was to be a Queen. She thought that she’d prance around in pretty dresses and that she would be married to a handsome King. It was all she could think about and all she wanted. This is nothing like she expected.

 

She takes another sip. Ruling may be hard, but she is grateful to hold Winterfell. In time, she will be able to take the Twins from the Freys. She will one day be able to properly defend herself from the South. She must have confidence that she is a capable leader. The North is counting on her.

 

Sansa sets the half empty glass on the table. She turns to the door and exits her solar. She moves through the halls towards the Lord’s Chambers. She supposes she’ll retreat to her room until her bath is drawn for her.

 

Sansa squares her shoulders as she walks through the hall. She squashes her doubts as she walks through the halls. This is her home, and the people inside the walls of Winterfell are her subjects. She must appear strong even in the face of doubt. _Winter is here_ . The North will need a strong ruler to lead them. The winters are hard, but the Starks endure. _And, endure she shall._

 


	2. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the original chapters are going to be reposted as they were. Thank you all. It really touches me that a lot of people missed my work.
> 
> This was beta-ed by LadyCarolineMichaelson. I’d be lost without her I swear.

_It’s rude._ Sansa Stark is the head of one of Westeros’ Great Houses, and his father had not even bothered to meet her at the shore. Jon stands next to Tyrion Lannister as he watches a small boat row towards shore.

“My father has asked that you do not address her as your wife,” Jon says. “As far as he’s concerned, her marriage to you is illegitimate.”

“While I trust the King’s judgement, may I at least ask why?” Tyrion asks.

“You have said the marriage was never consummated,” Jon says. “ _And_ , you have implied she was made to say her vows under duress. Your marriage to Sansa Stark was ordered by Joffrey Baratheon--”

“Not by Joffrey,” Tyrion interrupts. “It was a direct order from my father. I had little say in it myself, your grace.”

“I do not care about the minor details,” Jon pinches his nose in frustration. “Please try not to offend her. We’re are fortunate enough that the North has answered our call.”

“Quite the contrary, I do not mean to offend at all,” Tyrion says. “I do not expect that Sansa Stark sailed all the way to Dragonstone, because she so _dearly_ missed her estranged husband.”

Jon watches the small boat touch the shore. His eyes fall on the red haired woman sitting at the back of the boat. He eyes the crown on her head. Jon had imagined that she’d look similar to how his father had described his mother. Sansa seems to take after her mother, Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. Jon watches as a bearded man takes Sansa’s arm in his. He helps her off the boat and sets her onto the shore.

Sansa exchanges words with her men before turning to face Jon and Tyrion. Sansa looks to Tyrion and squares her shoulders. Her eyes avert to Tyrion to meet his gaze. Jon looks into her blue eyes before dipping his head in respect. Sansa steps toward Jon.

“Jon Targaryen…”

“Sansa Stark…”

She curtsies to him, and Jon bows his head once more in respect. Her eyes look to Tyrion, but she does not address him. He can see the tension between them. Their sham of a marriage seems to be an unpleasant memory to her. Jon takes Sansa’s arm in his. She hugs her arm around his with ease.

Jon looks down to her velvet blue dress. There’s a wolf stitched right above her breast. Jon’s eyes linger as he takes in the detail. Sansa averts his gaze. He can feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment. She must think that he’s staring at her chest.

Jon makes an attempt to correct the situation. “Your dress is pretty. I like the wolf bit.”

The words sounded smoother in his head. There’s a half grin on Sansa’s lips, and he’s sure he just turned five shades redder.

“Thank you,” Sansa says.

Jon escorts Sansa through a pair of large gates. The two walk with arms linked up as they walk side by side through the long ramp to his father’s castle. His father’s decision to summon Sansa Stark above all else is obvious to Jon. Sansa is Lyanna’s niece, and his father is still attached to his wife’s ghost. Jon wishes he had memories of his mother, but she died shortly after he was born. Her bones now rest in the crypts of Winterfell. It has been his wish that his mother had lived since as long as Jon can remember, but alas, that can never be. The Red Priests and Priestesses in Essos might protest otherwise, but death is final. What is dead cannot return.

A dragon flies overhead. Sansa presses into him as if he wields power over the dragons. Only one dragon yields to him -- Lyarion. His father had named the dragon after his mother. How ironic it is that she is the dragon most fond of him. Jon watches as the dragon flies through the sky. Sansa’s eyes avert from Viserion, refusing to even look at the dragon.

Tyrion lets out a small laugh. “I’d say you get use to them, my lady, but you never really do.”

Sansa releases her arm from his. She turns back to look to Tyrion. “I am not _your_ lady. I am the Queen of the North.”

Sansa and Tyrion look to each other. Sansa’s shoulders are squared and her chin is held high as she looks down at Tyrion. Jon can feel the tension coming off of Sansa. He warned his father that having Tyrion at the shore would be a bad idea.

Jon clears his throat to draw their attention away from each other. “My father does not recognize your marriage to Tyrion as it was not consummated nor was the marriage arranged in good faith. As far as we are concerned, you are Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”

Tyrion looks to Jon and back to Sansa. “I apologize on behalf of my family for how they have wronged you, Queen Sansa.”

The tension between them simmers. Sansa looks to Tyrion for a moment before saying, “It is good to see you are well, Lord Tyrion.”

“It is good to see you are well, your grace,” Tyrion says. “Let us hope that we can see an end to this war.”

Jon offers his arm to Sansa. She wraps her arm around his and they walk side by side. Jon manages a quick glance at Sansa. Tyrion had spoke of Sansa from time. He had said she was very beautiful. He wasn’t lying in the slightest.

“Your name is Jon,” Sansa says. “It’s a Northern name. Did Lyanna name you?”

“Yes, or at least according to my father,” Jon says. “She wanted me to have a Northern name. It was her last request. That and wishing to be buried with her brother and her father.”

Sansa tenses at his last words. His grandfather’s brutality clearly can still be felt in the North. He can feel a pit form in his stomach. He wishes he could take his last sentence back.

“On behalf of my family, I apologize for my grandfather’s actions.”

Sansa is quiet at first. Her eyes conceal any emotion she might be feeling. “An apology won’t bring them back from the dead, but I thank you for your kind words.”

Sansa has become more tense, but she doesn’t release her hold on his arm. Jon wishes he could have picked better words. He was never quite as well versed in politics as his father. He feels sweat form on his brow as his heart beats against his chest. He feels he has slighted her, and for some reason, the thought of her disapproval worries him.

They reach the end of the ramp. Sansa’s eyes glance to the statues and carvings of dragons and wyverns. A pair of guards open the castle doors for them. Jon guides Sansa through the castle until they reach his father’s audience chamber.

“Your father is behind these doors?”

Jon can hear the strain in Sansa’s voice. Jon looks directly into her blue eyes. She doesn’t truly wish to be here. It’s written all over her. Yet, here she stands. There is a reason she is here, but she is not here to kneel. That much is certain.

“Yes, my father is eager to meet you,” Jon finally answers.

Sansa expels a deep breath into the air. She faces the doors and looks to Jon from the corner of her eyes. He tries to give her an encouraging smile. Sansa does not smile. She stands tall and proud. There is this hardened look in her eyes. Jon’s smile falters. He motions for the guards to open the doors and guides Sansa into the audience chamber.

Jon Connington, his father’s hand, stands to the left of his father’s throne. Jon guides Sansa to the center of the room before he take his place to the right of his father. His eyes fall to Sansa. The bearded lord takes his place by her side. She stands tall as she looks up to his father.

“You stand in the presence of Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His Name,” Jon Connington announces. “ _Rightful_ heir to the Iron Throne, _Rightful_ king of the Andals and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm.”

There is a brief pause. The bearded lord looks to Sansa before looking back towards the throne. “This is Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North.”

“I thank you for traveling so far to meet with me, Lady Sansa,” his father speaks. “I’m hope that the seas were kind during your travels.”

The bearded lord shifts slightly. “My apologies, your grace. My fleabottom accent is thick, but Sansa is not the Lady of Winterfell. She is the Queen in the North.”

“Forgive me, Lord…” his father pauses.

“Davos Seaworth,” the lord answers.

“Forgive me, Lord Seaworth,” he says. “But, it has been my understanding that the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon I Targaryen.

Sansa’s chin raises and her eyes narrow as she gazes up to his father. “The _last_ King in the North was _my brother_ Robb Stark. He declared the North independent during the War of the Five Kings. I am the last of Robb Stark’s siblings, and his heir by right of birth.”

“Ah, but Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity -- meaning his oath to the Targaryen Dynasty is permanent,” his father’s words hang in the balance. “So, I assume -- _my lady_ \-- you have come here to bend the knee…”

His father’s words hang in the air. Sansa’s features become hardened. She stands tall as she looks up to his father.

“House Stark and the North will remain independent from the South,” Sansa says. “I am not here to bend the knee to House Targaryen.”

“Hmm, that is disappointing,” his father replies. “You have travel all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?”

“What faith has been broken? Torrhen Stark pledged fealty to your house in the belief that the North and his family would be protected under the rule of your family,” Sansa says. “When your father burned my grandfather alive and executed uncle, my house was freed from that oath.”

“I do apologize on behalf of House Targaryen for the crimes my father committed against your family. I ask you not to judge a son by the sins of his father…”

Sansa’s clenches her fist and takes a sharp step forward. “Have you forgotten _why_ my grandfather and my uncle road to King’s Landing, _your grace_? You took my aunt from her family and had her held up in a tower!”

His father rises from where he sits and glares down. “ _My wife_ left with me willingly, fleeing from a marriage she wanted no part in. Couldn’t the same be said about your marriage to Tyrion Lannister? You fled King’s Landing, did you not?”

Sansa looks up to his father. This is not at all what Jon had expected. He takes a step forward.

“Sansa Stark, if you are not here to bend the knee to my father,” Jon is sure to keep his tone neutral and non-threatening when he speaks. “I’m curious, what has brought you all the way to Dragonstone? I can’t imagine that you traveled all the way here to declare the North’s independence.”

Sansa’s eyes look to him. Her anger seems to simmer as her eyes soften under his gaze. “I am here to _warn_ you. There is a greater threat than the Lannisters and the Tyrells. I...need your help, and you will need mine.”

His father looks down to Sansa. “I have three dragons and an army sworn to fight on my behalf, but apparently, I need your help?”

Jon cringes at his father’s words. Sansa’s eyes look to him for a moment longer before her gaze falls on his father.

“By all means, _your grace_ , take King’s Landing from Tommen. Put Robert’s treacherous Queen’s head on a spike if it pleases you. I will not care in the slightest,” Sansa says. “But, there is a threat beyond the wall that is greater than the North, greater than Lannister, and even greater than your dragons.”

Davos shifts on his feet and looks up to his father. “With the Faith Militant controlling the capitol, you could storm King’s Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Stannis Baratheon almost took the city and he didn’t even have dragons.”

Sansa looks up to his father. “Yet, here you stand in Dragonstone. You could have King’s Landing if you wished, but you remain here. _Why?_ I imagine that might be because you don’t have the stomach to burn thousands of innocents alive which means that at the very least you’re better than your father.”

“This does not explain why I need your help?”

“ _Because_ ,” Sansa lets out a deep breath. “You, your son, Tommen, Cersei... _my people_ \-- we are all going to die if we do not prepare for the long winter. My Uncle Benjen, your wife’s brother, was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. I am not your enemy, Rhaegar Targaryen. The dead beyond the wall are your enemy.”

“ _The Others_ are no more than a children’s tale,” his father speaks.

“I once believed the same,” Sansa says. “But, my Uncle Benjen and his men have seen them with their own eyes. They took a wildling city in less than a day’s time. Winter has come, not just for the North but the South as well. The army of the dead is real, the Others are real, the Night King is real. My uncle has seen them all with his own eyes. If the army of the dead marches past the wall and we are left unprepared, the Seven Kingdoms will cease to exist.”

“If you don’t believe my Queen, I can understand,” Davos says. “It sounds like nonsense. King Rhaegar, I understand that you are capable in defeating the Lannisters without myself. You have brought dragons to this world when we have thought that dragons were lost to our world. But, Sansa Stark is the Queen the North has chosen to follow. While you and your son were in Essos, Sansa was forced to endure Lannister captivity. She was forced to marry into a family that murdered her family. This husband nearly raped her on their wedding night when she was merely a child. This very same man stands outside of your audience chamber. Sansa managed to escape her captivity in King’s Landing and brought the Knights of the Vale to Benjen Stark’s aid to win back Winterfell. Mind you, she accomplished all this without dragons. She is the reason the North no longer answers to the Lannisters. Sansa is a woman and hardly the first choice the North would have for a leader. But even so, they chose her to lead them, because they believe in her. I believe in her, and if you do not heed her words, we may all die. And, it will no longer matter who’s skeleton sits on the Iron Throne.”

Jon looks to Sansa. This woman has accomplished all this at such a young age? He’s impressed to say the very least.

Rhaegar steps down the stairs and looks to Sansa. “If all of this is true, swear fealty to my house. Help me take the throne from Cersei’s bastard, and I will aid you in the long winter.”

“Even if I wished to kneel, war takes time,” Sansa says. “The wall may fall to the Others any day now. My men need to be in the North to protect my people.”

“Then, kneel,” his father advises.

“ _Why?_ ” Sansa snaps. “I hardly even know you. I don’t know you any better than I knew Joffrey Baratheon when I first left Winterfell. I’m through with kneeling to men and hoping that maybe they might have my best interests in mind. Your entire claim rests on your father’s name. My father fought against both you and your father in hopes that maybe he could bring his sister home. I wasn’t there to see what happened between you and my Aunt Lyanna. Maybe you were in love or maybe you’re lying to me. But, if your words are true, you could have told the truth to my grandfather and Robert Baratheon. You could have prevented the war, and you would be sitting on the Iron Throne rather than Tommen.”

Sansa gives Jon one last look before looking directly into his father’s eyes. “The Northern Lords put their faith in me, and I will not betray their faith. I will continue to lead my people until the day I die.”

“Very well,” his father speaks. “By declaring the North an Independent Kingdom, you are in open rebellion with House Targaryen -- like father like daughter. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected very much of you.”

Jon’s eyes widen and his heart skips. “ _Father…?_ ”

His father raises his right hand in the heir to silence him.

“So, am I your prisoner now?” Sansa asks. “Are you going to lock me up in a tower just like my aunt?”

Jon’s breath is caught in his throat. All of this feels so wrong.

“You are not our prisoner,” Jon speaks over his father. “We invited you here as a guest, and you may leave when you please.”

His father turns to look to him. He can see the disapproval in his father’s violet eyes. Sansa’s eyes are on him. Her sharp blue eyes look to him as if she’s trying to see into his soul. Every nerve in his body feels as if it’s on fire.

“The North hasn’t attacked us,” Jon says. “My mother was part of House Stark. The least we can do is respect her Great House by allowing her niece to leave Dragonstone. Please Father...we cannot hold her hostage from her people. We have so many enemies now. It won’t benefit us to create one more enemy, will it?”

His father turns back to Sansa. “I imagine your tired after your long journey, Sansa Stark. I will have my servants prepare you room for you.”

“ _Am I your prisoner?_ ” Sansa repeats.

His father looks directly into her eyes. “ _Not yet_.”

 

 


	3. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figured since I'm reposting the rest of my fics that I'll start reposting for this one too.

Sansa looks to herself in the mirror. The silver Essosi gown makes her feel so naked. Her shift reveals less skin than this dress does. Her hands move the silver straps in an attempt to raise the neckline over her breasts. She let’s out a frustrated groan and drops her hands to her sides. She glares at the dress in the mirror. She hates how exposed it makes her feel, but she supposes it will do for now.

 

Sansa walks to her balcony and sits at a small round table. She looks out to the raging sea. Sansa watches the water crash against the shore. She shouldn’t have come here. She had an inkling feeling in the back of her mind that this was a terrible idea, but she caved to her own fears. Baelish had told her that Tywin had attempted to arrange a marriage between Cersei and Prince Rhaegar, but Aerys refused to marry Cersei to his heir. Baelish’s words were meant to warn her. Perhaps he meant to sow further distrust towards the Targaryens so that she would stay in the North. Sansa’s better judgement would tell her that there was never anything there, that Rhaegar cared very little for Cersei, and that her fears were simple worries. Yet, she kept thinking _what if_ ? And, that _“what if”_ was enough to sway her into sailing into the dragon’s pit.

 

She hears a knock at her door. Sansa is about to rise from where she sits, but her handmaiden is already at the door. She can hear pleasantries exchanged before her handmaiden opens the door and stands aside. Sansa is relieved to see Jon rather than Rhaegar. Her handmaiden exits the room, shutting the door behind her. She feels this odd sense of ease. She should weary of being alone with Jon, but a part of her is drawn to him. _He won’t hurt her_. She’s not sure how she knows, but there’s this goodness about him.

 

Sansa looks to Jon, who stands with a simple silver tray in hand. He’s dressed in all black with a red cape draped over his right shoulder. The southern clothes contrast with his dark hair and dark eyes. He looks like a Northman trying to play the part of a Targaryen. He looks so much like a Stark that she _wants_ to trust him. Her eyes catch a golden chain connected to a dragon pinned to the right of his chest. It is a reminder of who he really is—a Targaryen born to the exiled Prince Rhaegar. Sansa feels this awful void in her stomach. Jon is a Targaryen, and the Targaryens have brought dishonor on her family just as the Lannisters have. No amount of wishful thinking can change that. He may be kind. He may even be as good as she senses he is, but she cannot let her guard down.

 

Jon walks to her and sets the tray in the center of the table. Sansa looks upon the tray— _lemon cakes._ She looks down at the small frosted cakes. She hasn’t indulged in her favorite treat since leaving Winterfell. Sansa can’t help but smile.

 

“I’ve been told they’re your favorite, your grace,” Jon says.

 

“Tyrion told you,” Sansa says.

 

His smile falters a bit. “He was the one who told me they were your favorite. I thought it might brighten your mood.”

 

Sansa looks up to him and smiles. “Thank you, Prince Jon.”

 

“I’m sorry if my father offended you…”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Sansa says. “It’s not you I’m upset with.”

 

Sansa looks to the lemon cakes. She takes one between her fingers and pops it in her mouth. It’s sweet and the white frosting make it’s all the sweeter. Sansa swallows the cake. She rests her hands in her lap. Wind touches her shoulders, and she is reminded of how exposed she is. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment as Jon looks to her. She breathes as she forces back her self-conscience feelings. She reminds herself that she must appear queenly even when she’s uncomfortable.

 

“I should leave,” Sansa says. “I do not mean to offend you, but your father and I are too different. Your grace, winter is here. You may not believe me. I’m certain your father doesn’t believe me, but my people know that I am telling the truth. If your father won’t help me, there is little I can do to change that. I cannot waste more time here. I need to be back with my people. Cersei’s hands are tied in King’s Landing, but _I know her_. She won’t be docile for long. I have a duty to my people. I must protect my people from the Lannisters, the Others, or any other threat that marches on the North.”

 

Jon’s dark eyes look to her. He lowers his gaze to his feet and shifts uneasily. His thick hair waves in the wind. Sansa looks up to him. His dark hair was the first feature she noticed. Jon’s eyes raise back to hers. A small, wistful smile appears on his lips for only a moment. His smile fades slightly as he looks to her.

 

“You came here asking for my father’s help,” Jon says. “Is it dragons you need to fight the Others?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Sansa says. “Dragons will help, but that is not why I have come.”

 

“Maybe if I spoke on your behalf, I could convince him to help you,” Jon says. “Why did you sail to Dragonstone?”

 

“I need Dragonglass,” Sansa confesses. “My uncle says it’s the only way my people can fight the Others. We have a small store of it in Winterfell—maybe a little over twenty shards—but it won’t be enough. I have a source that says Dragonstone has large stores of Dragonglass that my men could mine. That is if your father allows us to do so. Prince Jon, the Others aren’t just a Northern problem. If I were in your father’s position, I would sail East and wait out the long winter. When springs breaks, I guarantee you’ll conquer what’s left of Westeros with ease.”

 

“May I ask...what do you think will be left?” Jon asks.

 

“Not much,” Sansa says. “Your father would be ruling over a graveyard.”

 

Jon eyes seem to study hers. Sansa holds her gaze to his. A part of her wishes that he were head of House Targaryen rather than his father. Jon seems to listen to her rather than dismiss her.

 

“I cannot guarantee you anything,” Jon says. “But, I will try to convince him to hear you out.”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says.

 

Jon pivots slightly. Sansa rises from her chair and looks to directly into Jon’s eyes. “I thank you for helping me, your grace. I will be... _kinder_...the next time I speak with your father, but I won’t kneel. Not for Dragonglass. _Not for anything_.”

 

Jon’s eyes lower to the ground. “I would never ask you to kneel.”

 

“You won’t,” she agrees. “But, your father will.”

 

Silence hangs in the air. Jon looks back to her. “I will do what I can to help you, but again, I cannot guarantee he will agree to help you.”

 

Jon looks to her. There’s a brief pause before he turns away from her. Sansa sets her hand on the glass table. She watches him until he leaves the room. When he shuts the door behind him, she releases a deep breath. She can still feel his presence as if he were still standing before her.

 

Sansa wraps her arms around herself. She looks out to the sky. The blue sky has turned to a deep orange. She thinks back to Winterfell. Uncle Benjen must be worried sick. She wishes she had listened to him and sent an emissary of Northern men in her place. Uncle Benjen had warned her about the Targaryens and their arrogance. Sansa knows that her time could have been better used making allies than wasting her time in Dragonstone, but it’s too late for that now. She made a choice, and she must live by the choice she made.

 

Sansa expels a deep breath into the air. What allies can she _really_ make? House Baratheon ceases to exist. House Tyrell is tied to House Lannister through Margaery Tyrell. House Martell is tied to House Lannister through Myrcella Lannister. House Tully has been taken by her enemies. Making an alliance House Greyjoy or House Frey is completely out of the question. As much as she hates it, House Targaryen is the best chance she has. Even so, she won’t kneel — not today, not tomorrow, _not ever_.

 

Sansa hears a knock at her door. She opens the door to see Davos on the other side. He bows his head to her.

 

“Good evening, your grace,” he greets.

 

Sansa stands aside and allows him to enter. She shuts the door behind him. There’s a beat of silence between them before Davos speaks. “I don’t like it here. I don’t like it one bit.”

 

“I hate it here too,” Sansa admits. “It might be best to leave the first chance we get. I don’t trust that Rhaegar has anything but his own interests in mind.”

 

Davos looks to Sansa. “We don’t have huge storages of Dragonglass. Should we really leave here empty handed?”

 

“I’m not sure if Rhaegar is going to just let us mine Dragonglass,” Sansa pauses. “Not unless I am subservient to him. _I won’t kneel_. I spent day after day in King’s Landing kneeling to Joffrey Baratheon. I won’t submit myself to that life again.”

 

“What will you do when you return to the North without anything to show for your time in the South?” Davos asks.

 

“I will tell them the truth. I will tell my people Rhaegar wants me to kneel. I will tell them what they already know: that the Targaryens can’t be trusted,” Sansa says. “The North selected me to be their Queen. I can’t betray their trust by kneeling to the Mad King’s son.”

 

“But, without Dragonglass, can we really stop the Others?” Davos asks.

 

“I’m…” Sansa pauses as doubt fills her. “I’m not sure, but Prince Jon might convince his father to let my men mine Dragonglass. If he fails...we may have no choice but to leave.”

 

Davos closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. His forehead creases. “This is a mess. All these damn houses are fighting over an iron chair when we should preparing against the worst threat to our lives this world has ever seen.”

 

Davos drops his hand to his side. He looks back to Sansa. She wishes she had an answer for him, but there isn’t an easy solution—at least not one she can see.

 

“Be patient,” Sansa says. “It may seem hopeless now, but there may be a solution we have yet to foresee.”

 

Davos clasps his hands behind his back. He looks down to her. “Let us hope that is the case, my Queen.”

 

There is another knock at the door. Davos goes to the door. He opens the door and steps aside for Jon. Sansa looks to him. She curtsies. Jon bows his head to her. Davos shifts to Jon, hands still clasped behind his back. He dips his head forward in a small bow.

 

“My father wishes to speak with you,” Jon says.

 

Sansa looks to Jon. She can feel that tension she had felt earlier. His dark eyes look to her. He takes two steps towards her. He offers Sansa his arm. She steps towards him, closing the gap between her and Jon. She places her left arm in his right arm and places her right hand on his sleeve.

 

Sansa follows Jon’s lead and exits the room. She keeps her eyes forward as Jon guides her through the long halls. Sansa has decided that she doesn’t like Dragonstone at all. It’s so gloomy and the stone walls make her feel so trapped. She tells herself that once she leaves nothing in the world could ever convince her to come back here.

 

A pair of doors are set open. Sansa looks outside the doors and into the night sky. Jon guides her outside of the castle. A small ramp is lit by several torches. Sansa looks forward to see Rhaegar standing off in the distance. His red cape and silver hair wave in the wind as he stands with his back facing the castle.

 

“I spoke to my father about the Dragonglass,” Jon says. “He has agreed to hear you out. I know he can be overbearing and he can be condescending…”

 

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Sansa says.

 

“That’s not my point,” Jon pauses. “If this is going to work, you’ll have to work with him whether you like it or not. I’m not asking you to kneel, but _maybe_ try not to get so defensive even when you feel he’s being rude.”

 

“He _is_ rude,” Sansa says.

 

“He can be, but he isn’t unreasonable,” Jon says. “I don’t know if he believes you--”

 

“Do you believe me, Prince Jon?” Sansa interrupts.

 

Her arm tightens around his as she looks up to him. His dark eyes are looking down at her. There’s this _kindness_ about him. He’s not like Joffrey. She can sense that he’s honest and good-natured just by how he carries himself.

 

“I know you didn’t sail all the way to Dragonstone to spin a story of dead men walking and Dragonglass,” Jon says.

 

His words seem to hang in the air as Jon looks into her eyes. His dark locks wave in the air, and for a moment, she wonders what the world might be like if Jon were a King. Sansa’s eyes turn to Rhaegar. If Rhaegar takes the Iron Throne, that very well may be the case in the distant future.

 

Sansa walks by Jon’s side as they descend down the stairs. Her heart is pounding against her chest. She feels more and more uneasy with each step she takes. She tells herself to stand tall and stay calm. She tells herself to look strong. Robb was brave even in the face of his own death. She can be brave too.

 

Sansa takes the final step down the stone bridge. Rhaegar’s long silver hair is waving in the wind as he looks out at the shoreline. She unhooks her arm from Jon and takes a tentative step forward.

 

“I am to focus my efforts on taking King’s Landing in the days to come,” Rhaegar says. “You may leave or you may stay here if you wish.”

 

She feels relief wash over her. Rhaegar doesn’t mean to align with the Lannisters. Her fears of a Lannister-Targaryen alliance was just that — a fear.

 

“I will not pardon Cersei Lannister,” Rhaegar says. “Even if she asks... _even if she begs_.”

 

“I thank you for that,” Sansa says. “Cersei Lannister is perhaps the worst woman I’ve come to meet in my life. I believe the world will be safer without her in a position of power.”

 

“Lord Varys has told me she no longer holds power in the Crownlands,” Rhaegar says. “Do I have my information wrong?”

 

“So long as the Faith Militant controls Tommen, she won’t be of any threat,” Sansa says. “But, that won’t be long. Cersei is dangerous—“

 

“I have been in her presence before. She always struck me as a foolish girl,” Rhaegar says. “If my information is correct, it was Cersei who led to the High Sparrow’s rise to power in King’s Landing? But, according to you, she is dangerous?”

 

Sansa’s chest tightens at his last statement. She calms herself as she resists the urge to lash out at him with insults.

 

“You’re right,” Sansa says. “Cersei is her own worst enemy. She does things with no rhyme or reason. Half the things she does end up coming back on her, but you can’t underestimate her. My father did. He meant to tell the truth. He thought that people would listen, and while there were many that believed him, it wasn’t enough…”

 

Sansa voice trails of as the memory of her father’s execution flashes in her mind. Her eyes sting as she forces back her tears. She’s cried countless tears for her father, and she will cry many more before she meets him in the afterlife. _But_ , she can’t right now—not in front of Rhaegar Targaryen. She can’t appear weak in front of him or Prince Jon for that matter.

 

“Dangerous or not — my army intends to sail for Casterly Rock at first light,” Rhaegar says “So long as she is imprisoned by the Faith Militant, she is harmless. Cersei does not have the time or the means to prepare for what is to come. I will defeat her and her family. I will take back my father’s throne that Robert stole from my family, and I will rule over the Seven Kingdoms. The Seven Kingdoms belong to my family, and the Iron Throne is mine by right of birth.”

 

She feels the wind against her bare shoulders. Rhaegar sets his left hand on the stone railing and turns to face her. Sansa forces herself to look into his violet eyes as she stands tall.

 

“The North is part of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa Stark,” he says to her. “Kneel and I will appoint you as the first woman to be Warden of the North.”

 

“I thank you for you offer,” Sansa says. “But, I must decline. My people elected me as their Queen. I cannot betray them by turning over my title to a southern ruler.”

 

Sansa forces herself to keep eye contact. Her heart is racing as adrenaline shoots through her. Her knees feel weak as he stares her down. King’s Landing flashes in her mind. Her breath catches in her throat. She tries not to imagine what it might feel like to be burned alive, but it’s all she can think of. She can feel her knees shake. She hasn’t been this terrified since her days as Joffrey’s hostage.

 

Rhaegar turns away from her. He looks out to the starry night sky. “My son says you need Dragonglass. You may mine Dragonglass if that is your will. I will provide you with all the resources and men you need.”

 

She looks to him. _He really believes her then?_

 

“You believe me, then?” she asks. “You believe—”

 

“You best get to work, Sansa Stark.”

 

His words feel like a punch to the gut. She turns away from him sharply. She feels Jon’s arm wrap around her as he steers her away from his father. She’s caught between feeling grateful for Rhaegar honoring her request and anger at his arrogance.

 

She feels Jon’s arm around her. Her anger simmers slightly. Jon isn’t like his father—or so she hopes. She wants more than anything to trust him, but all she can think of is the last time she trusted others in positions of power. She thinks of Joffrey’s wild green eyes and wormy lips. Sansa shivers. All she can hope is that Jon is as far from Joffrey as he seems.

 


	4. Jon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shazam! Update!
> 
> This chapter was beta-ed by LadyCarolinaMichaelson!

Jon looks to her from afar. She’s dressed in a white simple tunic and a pair of brown trousers. Her gloved hands set a bucket down in the white sand. Sansa places her hands on her hips as she looks outward. Davos approaches her with a white handkerchief in hand. He wipes the spot from her cheeks as the two share words. Sansa Stark could have sat in the comfort of her chambers, but here she is mining alongside her men. Jon is beginning to see why the North chose to stand behind her. It is not just her name that they follow. It’s everything she is.

 

“When my father asked that I marry Sansa Stark, I was taken aback at first,” Tyrion says. “But, the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of being wed to her. I suppose it might have been foolish of me to believe she’d come to love me. I am a Lannister after all, and the Lannisters are the greatest enemy to House Stark.”

 

Jon looks down to Tyrion. He remembers Davos’ words of their wedding night. He turns his eyes back to Sansa. It’s quite clear Sansa will never wish to return to her marriage to Tyrion Lannister—not after their families histories together. Jon sees a young terrified girl terrified in her husband’s chambers.

 

“It was a sham of a marriage,” Tyrion says. “I have nothing but regrets.”

 

Sansa catches Jon looking to her. She smiles to him and approaches him. Jon cannot help but return her smile.

 

“Thank you,” she says. “Without your help, I’m not sure if your father would have allowed my men to mine Dragonglass.”

 

Sansa’s smile fades. She looks to him. He can hear the waves crash behind him. He becomes tense under her piercing stare.

 

“There is something I should show you,” Sansa says.

 

“Shouldn’t we wait for my father?” Jon ask.

 

“We could, but…” Sansa pauses. “Since you’re already here, I thought I could show you now.”

 

Jon looks to Tyrion. He looks back to Jon

 

Jon gives her a small nod and obliged her request. He follows Sansa into the cave. Davos grabs a torch from one of his men and leads them both into the mine. Jon looks to the large walls. He sees the shimmering walls of unmined Dragonglass. He’s not sure why, but it brings him back to his time in the House of the Undying. He remembers the visions and horrors he saw with his father, the most haunting one being of his own mother.

 

Sansa takes Jon’s hand in his and directs him through a cramped space. He shifts through the hollow space and enters a vast area. Jon looks up to several carvings on the cave walls. This cave was once a dwelling to men way before his time.

 

“My Queen wanted you to see them first, Prince Jon,” Davos says.

 

Jon looks to the drawings. He never doubted Sansa for a moment. There was never a reason for her to arrive in Dragonstone to spin lies of fictitious monsters across the wall, but his father has had doubts. _This_ might convince him.

 

“We could show my father these drawings,” Jon’s voice is just above a whisper. “It might convince him.”

 

He looks to Sansa. There’s a mischievous smile on her lips. “ _It might_ , but he’s preoccupied with taking his chair back from Tommen…”

 

Her eyes turn to meet him. He looks into her eyes of Tully blue. Her smile brightens as she looks to him. “If we are going to survive, the North needs to rebuild faith in your family. The Others are a threat to both of us. They are a threat to our families and life as we know it.”

 

“If I can’t convince my father, I will be powerless to help you,” Jon says. “I’m not sure what I should do…”

 

“Come with me back to Winterfell,” Sansa suggests. “My Uncle Benjen was your mother’s brother. The North will have to get used to your father if he takes the throne from Cersei. Your mother was a Stark. I can’t promise that the Northern Lords will accept you, but it will be easier for them to accept you rather than your father.”

 

Jon looks back to the drawings painted on the cave walls. He eyes the paintings of the Others. He could go to Winterfell. His father won’t like it, but trying to make peace with the North will help them in the long run.

 

“I will go with you,” Jon says.

 

Sansa is beaming at him with a bright smile. She takes two steps to him. He can’t help but return her smile. There’s just _something_ about her that makes him feel at ease.

 

Jon offers her his arm. Sansa takes his arms and circles her arm in his. Davos leads the way as they make their way out of the cave. Jon leads Sansa out of the cave and out onto the large beach. He listens to the waves crashing as he looks out into the deep blue ocean.

 

His father is at war and the dead appear to be marching on all of humanity. The thought is so terrifying, but he doesn’t feel terror. Sansa’s arm tightens around his as they look out to the sea. He isn’t anxious or afraid. In this moment, he feels at peace.

 

Sansa releases her arm from his as she shifts to look to him. Jon pivots so that he’s looking directly into her eyes. His fingers seem to tingle as he reaches out to move a strand of red hair from her eyes. Her lips part as she keeps her eyes locked with his.

 

He can hear his father’s voice off in the distance. Tyrion and Father appear to be arguing. Jon drops his gaze to the sand as he frowns. He feels as if he’s been pulled from a sweet dream and back to the harsh world they live it. _But, it felt so sweet to forget even if only for a moment…_

 

Jon turns to see his father approaching him. He can see the anger in his father’s violet eyes. The march upon Casterly Rock must have gone worse than Father had hoped it would.

 

“Jon,” he looks to him. “Asha Greyjoy and what remains of her fleet has been seized! The Meereenese army has been depleted!”

 

“Have our armies retreated?” Jon asks.

 

“No,” he informs. “We have captured Casterly Rock, but at the cost of several losses and casualties. We will need more allies…”

 

Sansa seems to shift uncomfortably as his father’s eyes fall onto her. She places both her hands behind her back as she straightens her posture. Even dressed in peasants trousers, she looks as graceful as she had the day she arrived in Dragonstone.

 

“ _You_ …” his father’s eyes turn to Sansa Stark. “You say you took back Winterfell. I wish for your council. I am at war and I am losing. What do you think I should do?”

 

Sansa looks to his father. “From what I’ve gathered so far, your army has been depleted and you’ve lost Asha Greyjoy’s navy. You will need more allies if you want to take King's Landing. That...will be difficult.”

 

“I don’t have time to _beg_ the Great Houses to stand by my side rather than Cersei!” Rhaegar snaps.

 

“ _Cersei?_ I thought that Tommen was head of House Baratheon?” Sansa looks to Rhaegar and then down to Tyrion. Tyrion peers up at Sansa apologetically.

 

“Tommen is dead, isn’t he?” Sansa breathes. “That is the only way Cersei could take his place.”

 

“It’s puzzling to me as well. Lord Varys whisperers have informed us that my sister destroyed the Great Sept of Baelor with Wildfire,” Tyrion informs. “Margaery and her brother Loras perished in the initial blast. My nephew threw himself from the window upon discovering his mother’s brutal nature. With your house and the Targaryens both against the capitol, they didn’t have time to select an appropriate person to lead. Unfortunately, desperate times call for desperate measures—that being selecting my incompetent sister as their monarch.”

 

“Cersei Lannister sits on the Iron Throne…” Sansa’s words are thin as her face turns pale. Her eyes raise as she looks to his father. “ _I warned you!_ I warned you not to underestimate her! I need to leave this island! She’ll come for me!”

 

Jon eyes soften as he looks to Sansa. “So long as my father has dragons, Cersei cannot siege Dragonstone. We can protect you here.”

 

Sansa’s blue eyes look directly into his. Her voice quivers when she speaks. “You can’t protect me, Prince Jon. No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

 

“My sister is an enemy to both House Stark and House Targaryen,” Tyrion advises. “If the North could help us…”

 

“The North is preparing for the long winter,” Sansa says. “I cannot ask my armies to abandon my people to fight a southern war.”

 

“If you cannot help us, what other alliances can we possibly make?” his father looks to Sansa. “I have dragons why even waste my time with squabbling with the Great Houses? If I had dragons to fight Robert...”

 

“You would have won at the Trident. I have no doubt in that, but the world is different now. The Great Houses may have yielded when the Targaryen Dynasty was all people knew, but the people no longer trust your family. You need allies if you expect to regain control of the south,” Sansa says.

 

Lyrion cries from above as she circles the skies. Jon watches as Sansa raises her eyes to look to Lyrion. She lowers her eyes to the sand and crosses her arms across her chest.

 

Sansa shifts uneasily before she raises her gaze to his father. “Princess Arianne won’t come to help you. You ended any chance at an alliance with Dorne when you left Elia Martell to die in King’s Landing. House Tyrell’s only daughter lies in ashes. You won’t be able to make a marriage alliance with them, but I know Olenna Tyrell. She loved her granddaughter dearly. If she is aware Cersei is behind Margaery’s death, she will be out for blood. I would write to her and her son for aid.”

 

“I don’t need House Tyrell or House Martell to siege King’s Landing,” his father takes one step towards Sansa.

 

Sansa keeps her eyes on his father. “People didn’t follow Robert Baratheon, because they were torn up about a broken betrothal. My father broke faith with House Targaryen after Aerys burned and murdered his father and brother. You can swoop into King’s Landing and take it with three dragons. I don’t doubt it. _But_ , if you’re willing to burn your enemies just to sit on your father’s throne, you are no better than your father or even Cersei.”

 

Sansa’s gaze falls onto Jon’s. A sad smile appears on her face. That moment of peace between them is now only a vivid memory. Her meek smile dissolves from her face as she turns away from him and rejoins Davos. Jon’s fingers tingle as he watches her walk back into the mine. He feels as if that moment they had on the beach is lost now.

 

“What do you plan to do, your grace?” Tyrion asks. “You could take King’s Landing by force, but I agree with the Stark girl. I never got to see this side of Sansa Stark, but she’s wiser than I ever knew her to be.”

 

His father stands still. He clasps his hand behind his back as he looks to Tyrion. “Write to Mace Tyrell. Ask him to join my campaign against Cersei Lannister.”

 

A spark of hope ignites as he looks to father. “Sansa Stark has invited me to join her at Winterfell. I am your heir. If her people grew to trust me, they might accept us.”

 

His father gives him a hardened stare. He does not approve. _It doesn’t matter._ Something inside of him is telling him to go to Winterfell. He is going whether his father approves or not.

 

“I have already accepted her offer,” Jon says. “I am going to Winterfell with…”

 

“Are you sure that is wise?” Tyrion advises.

 

Jon raises his right hand to dismiss Tyrion’s words. He will not be swayed. He looks directly at his father. He knows that _this_ is what he must do.

 

“If...you could sway Sansa Stark to join me, it could benefit my campaign against Cersei and her treacherous brother. You are my son. There will always be that fear of what may come of you in the North, but I trust your judgment,” his father looks to him with approval.

 

Jon feels the tension release from him. “I am not sure if I can convince her to join you, but I will do my best to find a way to bridge the gap between our two houses.”

 

His father places his hand on his shoulder. “A part of me fears that I may never see you again. War is so unpredictable…”

 

He removes his hand from Jon’s shoulder. There’s a bit of sadness in the flecks of violet in his father’s eyes. He moves past Jon. Jon hears the waves crash behind him. He looks to see Sansa standing by Davos’ side. She glances at him one last time before they walk back inside the mine

  
  
  
  
  
  



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